


hazard all he hath

by violaceum_vitellina_viridis



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Cult of Kate, Double Penetration, Drunken Shenanigans, Drunkenness, Face-Fucking, Feral Behavior, First Time, Gambling, Gwent (The Witcher), Jealous Eskel (The Witcher), Jealous Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jealous Lambert (The Witcher), M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Possessive Behavior, Power Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Scheming, Scheming Eskel (The Witcher), Triple Penetration, Witchersexual Jaskier | Dandelion, no beta we die like stregobor fucking should have
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:07:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24815839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violaceum_vitellina_viridis/pseuds/violaceum_vitellina_viridis
Summary: It happens because Geralt is drunk.Jaskier expects laughs with their deliberate misuse of Gwent games. He gets more than he bargains for.
Relationships: Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Lambert, Eskel/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion/Lambert
Comments: 174
Kudos: 1311





	1. chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> yo this is,,, nothing i'm supposed to be working on. blame! kate!
> 
> it's always her fault. i love her tho and hey, y'all get more witchersexual jaskier porn so is anyone complaining? that's what i thought.
> 
> i know fuck all about gwent, so,,, yeah

It happens because Geralt is drunk.

And, well – okay, Jaskier isn’t exactly _sober_ ; were he in possession of all his faculties, he might have been a little offended, or at least annoyed, at the proceedings of this disastrous card game, but. _But_ , he’s not in possession of all his faculties, considering that while he’s not quite smashed, he’s – well, maybe more than tipsy, closer to drunk. Not as far gone as Geralt, but…but pretty far gone. He can’t quite remember but he thinks Eskel and Lambert are rather sloshed, too.

So when Geralt, drunk and already missing half his clothes from losing to Lambert at Gwent, thunders out, “I bet _Jaskier_ ,” yes, Jaskier should probably be offended. Or annoyed, or – apprehensive, maybe, or…well, anything except what he is. Which is, if he’s honest, _intensely_ amused. Because Geralt is good at Gwent, sure, but he’s playing _Lambert_ , who is much better than good. _And_ Geralt has been losing all night.

Jaskier turns to find Lambert looking at him, a smirk on his mouth and one eyebrow quirked, and he thinks, _fuck it._

“Alright,” he agrees. “Go on.”

He loses track of the game after a few minutes, distracted by – well, he’s not actually sure; Eskel, maybe, who is sitting by the fire looking entirely too enticing all sprawled like that. Yeah, Eskel is _very_ distracting right now…. Jaskier shakes himself out of the thoughts, taking another swig of terrible homebrew; maybe more alcohol isn’t the solution to his wandering and increasingly horny thoughts, but the burn does distract him for a bit.

Before his brain can settle back into its usual one-track, though, Lambert crows triumphantly and Geralt _groans._ Jaskier looks back to them to find Geralt’s head in his hands while Lambert does a very stupid little victory dance at the table.

“Lambert won,” Eskel points out, entirely redundant, and Jaskier laughs.

“He did,” he adds, equally redundant. He looks back to Lambert and finds his thoughts settling straight back into that single track. “Well, I believe well all agreed that _I’m_ the prize.”

“That’s right,” Lambert says. He stands and steps over to Jaskier, and Jaskier doesn’t know exactly what’s going to happen, but he can make an educated guess, so he braces just in time for Lambert to bend and scoop him up. He gets slung easily over Lambert’s shoulder like he’s nothing but a particularly long sack of potatoes, and he laughs wildly when his stomach swoops. “I’ll be taking my winnings, now,” Lambert continues, and Jaskier laughs again.

Geralt gives a heartfelt groan, and then Lambert is carrying Jaskier away, up toward the bedrooms.

* * *

When Jaskier wakes, unmolested and in his own bed, he finds that even sober (and very, _very_ hungover), he’s still not really offended by Geralt’s terrible gambling. It’s still very humorous. After all, it’s not as if Geralt gave him away to a random stranger; Lambert is, for all his coarseness and sarcasm, a good man, someone Geralt considers a brother, and who Jaskier…well, considers. He’ll leave it at that. No need to settle into that one-track _this_ early.

But Jaskier still finds it funny; funny enough, in fact, that Jaskier thinks he’ll keep the joke going.

So when he finally stumbles down to breakfast, he eschews his usual seat next to Geralt and sits next to Lambert, instead. But that’s just the beginning; once he’s feeling marginally more human and less like a walking headache, he sticks to Lambert’s side.

Lambert catches on like a house on fire, and true to his character, goes all in. For the next few days, it’s all talk of where he travels on the Path, the places he wants to show Jaskier. Geralt is adorably huffy but very pointedly not saying anything, just grunting and humming his usual.

And then, Jaskier takes it up a notch.

It’s still a joke, after all, and one of Jaskier’s best skills is stringing jokes along. So, with a little bit of help from Eskel, he composes a song and titles it _The Black Wolf of Kaer Morhen_ , then sings it as obnoxiously as possible after dinner one night.

Vesemir rolls his eyes and makes the (probably wise) decision to spend the rest of his night in his room; Eskel sends himself into a coughing fit from laughing; Lambert preens under the attention – because as much as this is a joke, Jaskier is being one-hundred percent sincere with his praises; and Geralt, well.

Geralt rolls his eyes, and huffs, and as the song goes on, crosses his arms over his chest and starts to fume, just a bit. Jaskier can practically see the steam coming from his ears, and it’s taking a lot of his willpower to not call attention to it.

After all, there’s stringing a joke along and then there’s _taking it too far_ , and right now Geralt’s just – embarrassed still about betting Jaskier and losing, most likely, and mildly annoyed at the thinly-veiled ribbing, definitely, but not hurt or _actually_ angry. Jaskier can see it in the way he’s fighting a smile when he sees Lambert’s adoring expression, the fact that for all his crossed arms and scowls, there’s no real tension to his shoulders.

He finishes his song, and thinks that will be the end of it – mostly, he’s never going to let Geralt forget betting him and _losing_ – but then. _Then_ Eskel decides to chime in, looking at Jaskier the whole time, and _oh_ , this just got much more interesting.

“Lambert,” he says, eyes never straying from Jaskier, “I’ll play you for him.”

Jaskier feels his eyebrows climb to his hairline; he can practically feel the way Geralt tenses, the sudden wave of mischievous energy pouring off Lambert. There’s a beat, a pause where everyone truly parses Eskel’s challenge, and then Lambert is speaking.

“Well, buttercup,” he says, and Jaskier tears his eyes away from Eskel’s to look at him instead. “What do you think?”

He’s smirking. Jaskier’s not sure if it’s confidence or just glee in the chaos of this whole ridiculous thing, but either way, Lambert is currently living his best life. He considers for a moment before smirking right back.

“Alright.” He nods and turns back to Eskel. “If you think you can win, I’ll be the prize again.”

Eskel grins and goes to get his deck. Lambert shuffles away to do the same. Jaskier turns to find Geralt looking at him, an unreadable expression on his face.

“What?” Jaskier asks.

Geralt shakes his head. “Nothing,” he answers, a bald-faced lie if Jaskier’s ever heard one, but he’ll leave it be for now. After all, he’s about to be the trophy in yet another card game; there are more interesting things to be focusing on than Geralt’s refusal to speak his mind.

* * *

Eskel wins. Eskel wins, and Lambert laughs, and Geralt throws his hands up in exasperation, and Eskel – well.

Eskel pulls Jaskier into his lap, and Jaskier is a bit lost to that one-track for quite a while.

* * *

Jaskier realizes after two days that Eskel _has_ to be doing this on purpose.

He’s just so _touchy._ Not that Jaskier doesn’t like it – but it’s not hard to pick up on the pattern. As much as Eskel does continue the touching when Geralt isn’t around, it’s much, much worse when Geralt _is._

Oh, Eskel is brilliant. Jaskier tells him as much, one night, a whisper in his ear when Eskel has pulled him onto his lap once more. He keeps his eyes on Geralt, though, as he murmurs it right against the shell of Eskel’s ear, close enough that his lips brush it while he speaks. Eskel shivers under him, but he’s smirking and nodding along.

Geralt frowns. And then, when Jaskier stays pressed close to Eskel, their conversation turned to intimate murmurs, he _growls._ It’s almost enough to shake Jaskier out of the game, to make him go over to Geralt and assure him that it _is_ just a game, but –

When he looks up at Geralt, he doesn’t look angry. He looks _determined_ , and that’s – well. Jaskier’s interest is piqued.

“Geralt?” he asks, tone bright and innocent. He ignores the slight shake of Eskel’s silent laughter about it. “What is it?”

Geralt huffs and shakes his head as he stands and marches out of the room. He’s not gone long enough for Jaskier to worry, though; barely a handful of minutes later he stomps back in, his Gwent deck in his hand, and Jaskier knows exactly where this is going.

He stops to stand in front of Jaskier and Eskel, gaze intense on Eskel, as if Jaskier isn’t practically pressed between them. (And _oh,_ that’s a thought Jaskier has to shelve _immediately_ or he’ll embarrass himself.)

“All or nothing,” Geralt says, holding up the deck.

Jaskier turns his head to find Eskel smiling almost wickedly.

“Think you can beat me, pretty boy?” he asks, and there’s an edge to his voice Jaskier’s never heard before but _definitely_ wants to hear again – fuck, another thought he needs to shelve right away. That single track is starting to become a rut these days, and he keeps getting stuck in it.

“I do,” Geralt answers, a similar edge to his voice. Jaskier realizes that he’s just doomed. “If you don’t cheat.”

Eskel makes an indignant noise and gently pushes Jaskier off his lap. Jaskier scrambles to the side as Eskel stands and ends up right in Geralt’s space, practically nose-to-nose, and yeah, Jaskier is absolutely, completely done for.

“I’m not the one that might cheat,” Eskel sneers. “After all – you lost him first.”

Geralt snorts. “Go get your deck,” he says, and steps back, moving to the table to set up the game. Jaskier turns to find Lambert across the room looking as if he’s trying _very_ hard to keep his mouth shut, and Jaskier has to tip over and bury his face in the couch to muffle his giggles.

He’s managed to calm by the time Eskel returns with his deck, and sits up to pay attention. He knows fuck-all about Gwent, couldn’t follow a game if someone paid him to do it, but knows plenty about Geralt and he thinks he knows enough about Eskel. Theoretically, with just that knowledge, he should be able to keep track of who’s winning.

For the most part, he’s right. And it’s a stunningly quick game; maybe fifteen minutes later, Eskel is groaning and throwing his cards down while Geralt is – _smirking,_ genuinely smirking, wide and wicked, and yeah, that one-track is not just a rut it’s a _ditch_ , and Jaskier is very, very stuck in it.

Luckily for him, it seems Geralt’s in the same place as him. He stands from the table and stalks over, grabbing Jaskier’s wrist to yank him to his feet. Jaskier barely gets out a shouted, “ _Whoa_ ,” before he’s being dragged away, stumbling over his feet to follow how quickly Geralt is moving.

“Geralt, what – ”

Geralt whirls around and pushes Jaskier back, until his back meets a nearby wall. All of his breath rushes out on a single breath, making the moan he lets out when Geralt follows and presses him against the wall with his own body weak and nearly soundless.

“You’re _incorrigible_ ,” Geralt murmurs, and kisses him.

Jaskier kisses back, heedless of the fact that he’s breathless already and his head is spinning a bit. It’s not chaste, not by a long shot, but it is quick; much too quick for Jaskier’s taste. He whines when Geralt pulls back, and just whines again when the Witcher smirks at him.

“Come on,” Geralt says, and pulls away to start tugging Jaskier down the hall again. Jaskier groans, displeased, but goes.

He’s significantly less displeased when he realizes that Geralt is dragging him to a bedroom – Geralt’s bedroom, specifically. The displeasure disappears entirely when Geralt all but throws him onto the bed and follows him down to kiss him again. They end up tangled together, Geralt’s hands in Jaskier’s hair and every one of Jaskier’s limbs wrapped around Geralt somewhere.

“Fuck,” Jaskier hisses when the kiss finally breaks. His heart is already racing, and they’ve barely even done anything. “Fuck, _fuck_.”

“If that’s what you want,” Geralt murmurs against his throat, and Jaskier can hear the smirk in his voice.

“I rather think we should be doing what _you_ want,” Jaskier replies, all snark. “After all, _you’re_ the winner and _I’m_ the reward, right?”

Geralt grunts. “Fuck,” he mutters, then sits up and starts to fumble at Jaskier’s clothes. “ _Off_.”

Jaskier bites back an upset whine and scrambles to sit up and undress. Geralt leans back on his knees to do the same, and soon they’re both down to just half-undone breeches. At the sight of Geralt, shirtless and panting, Jaskier loses his patience; undressing is derailed for a long moment when he yanks Geralt back down into another searing kiss. He whimpers when Geralt’s hands find his waist, sword callouses catching on his skin before he lets go and starts shoving at Jaskier’s pants. Somehow, without breaking the kiss for more than frantic, sucked-in breath, he manages to get Jaskier’s pants down his legs and off. Jaskier vaguely hears the soft _woosh_ as they go flying somewhere else.

He reaches out and fumbles with the remaining closed buttons on Geralt’s breeches. Geralt finally breaks the kiss, but doesn’t lean back; instead, he trails wet, open mouthed kisses along Jaskier’s jaw, clear to his ear, where he drags sharp teeth lightly over the shell. Jaskier shudders.

“I can’t stop thinking about your mouth,” Geralt murmurs. “Always talking or singing, but I saw what you did to Eskel’s fingers the other night, while he hand-fed you your dessert. Certainly, there are better uses for that tongue than words, hm?”

Jaskier moans, cock throbbing and twitching wildly between them. “ _Geralt_ ,” he mutters, turning his head to nip at the Witcher’s throat. The breathy little sound Geralt makes, right into his ear, sends a myriad of shivers down his spine; he gets a grip on Geralt’s pants and pushes at them.

Geralt chuckles and pulls back, batting Jaskier’s hands away so he can finish pulling open his breeches and shove them down. Jaskier watches with no small amount of interest as the fabric is peeled off. He’d always thought the pants left little to the imagination, but he’s finding they’ve hidden much more than expected from him. His mouth is watering already.

“Fuck, Geralt – ” he starts, but doesn’t really have an idea where he’s going with it. His head is spinning all over again, lust and need making it hard to focus, too many wants and fantasies playing out in his mind to focus on a single one. But Geralt seems to have decided what he wants, because he all but shoves Jaskier toward the edge of the bed and then off of it.

He stumbles and turns, ready to be indignant, but Geralt has moved; he’s sitting at the edge of the bed, knees wide as he leans back on his arms, and he’s smirking again, all lazy confidence.

“On your knees,” he says, or, really, _orders_. It hooks into Jaskier’s gut, sharp and _hot_ , and he does exactly as he’s told, folding to his knees and pressing up against the edge of the bed, between Geralt’s legs. “Good,” Geralt says, and one of his hands pushes through Jaskier’s hair, cupping his skull gently.

With a small push, Jaskier’s eyes are directed down, from Geralt’s smirking face to his cock, lying thick and hard against his hip. Close enough that Jaskier can smell the musk of him, and really, what Jaskier wants more than anything is to _taste_. So he does; it’s easy to lean forward and drag his tongue along the thick, pulsing vein leading from the base to the tip, to wrap his lips around the already-leaking head and suck softly at it.

Above him, Geralt swears softly, something in Elder that Jaskier doesn’t quite catch. His grip on Jaskier’s hair tightens, barely a pull, but Jaskier moans all the same, wrapping his tongue around the head of Geralt’s cock more fully.

“ _Jaskier_ ,” Geralt hisses. “Fuck.” He uses that grip to pull Jaskier away, both of them making tiny, bereft sounds with the loss. Jaskier tips his head back up to look at his Witcher, eyes wide as he swipes his tongue across his bottom lip. Geralt groans and pets through his hair once more before getting a better grip on it, less gentle this time. Geralt quirks a brow, a silent question, and Jaskier nods, lashes fluttering a little at the pull.

Geralt leans up, bringing his other hand to Jaskier’s face. His thumb traces over Jaskier’s bottom lip, and Jaskier lets his mouth drop open in response, sticking his tongue out just over his lip to flick at the pad. Geralt’s eyes go even darker at the sight, but he pulls his hand away.

“Keep your mouth open,” he orders, and Jaskier nods again. Already, with his tongue stretched out over his lip, there’s drool starting to slide down his chin. He ignores the tickling slide of it to watch as Geralt wraps a fist around his cock, stroking it once before he taps the head gently against Jaskier’s tongue. Jaskier whines when that’s _all_ he does, just rubbing the head of his cock over the flat of Jaskier’s tongue; Geralt laughs, though its raspy and dark.

“Want something?” he asks, and Jaskier moans, eyes squeezing shut as he nods – or, tries; Geralt’s hand has tightened in his hair, restricting his movement, and the feeling of it makes Jaskier’s cock throb.

He can’t speak with the head of Geralt’s cock still resting on his tongue. Instead, he closes his mouth around it and sucks, hard. Geralt swears again and his hips jerk forward; Jaskier just moans around his cock and lets it sink further into his mouth, eyes fluttering open to look at Geralt as he does.

Geralt’s looking down at him, eyes wide and dark with lust. Just the sight of it makes Jaskier moan around him again, and Geralt pulls at his hair in response, which just makes him moan _more_.

“Fuck,” Geralt mutters. He uses that grip on Jaskier’s hair to push him down, just a little, then pull him back. A shudder shakes Jaskier’s whole frame and his eyes roll. He wants _more_ , but he can’t do anything but suck and tongue at him, not with the hold Geralt’s got in his hair. “Gods, you really want me to fuck your face, don’t you?”

Jaskier hums an affirmative around him, reveling in the way Geralt’s cock twitches hard in his mouth at the vibration. Geralt growls, low and almost more of a _feeling_ than a sound, and Jaskier just whines back.

“Give me your hand,” Geralt rumbles, and Jaskier immediately does. Geralt threads their fingers together, but the hold is loose. “Take your hand away if you need to stop. Alright?” Geralt uses his grasp to pull Jaskier off of his cock, clearly wanting a proper answer for this.

“Yes,” Jaskier agrees, instead of making a desperate sound, “I will, I will. Please.”

Geralt smirks, but doesn’t let go of Jaskier’s hair or pull him back onto his cock. “You will what?” he asks, and Jaskier groans.

“I’ll let go of your hand if I need you to stop,” Jaskier says in a rush, knowing Geralt well enough to know if he doesn’t do as he’s told, he won’t get what he wants. Geralt snorts, likely knowing Jaskier’s thought process, but pulls his head forward again. Jaskier goes eagerly.

At first, it’s slow; Geralt is controlling the pace entirely, not letting Jaskier do anything more than suck and wriggle his tongue to help, and he lifts and drops Jaskier’s head at a sedate pace. Then, after a handful of minutes, he starts moving his hips as well. Jaskier groans each time Geralt almost pushes into his throat but _doesn’t_. They’re at Kaer Morhen; he doesn’t need his voice, not the way he does when they’re on the road.

He wants to be face-fucked _properly_.

So he sucks a little harder at Geralt’s cock, his cheeks hollowing with each backward pull, and squeezes Geralt’s hand, hoping he’ll catch the hint. It takes a bit, but eventually, he seems to; or, more likely, he just decides to move on himself. He moves faster, at first, and then slowly, _slowly_ , deeper; Jaskier gags and chokes around him the first few times but tightens his hold on Geralt’s hand and forces his watering eyes open.

Geralt seems to get the message. He groans emphatically and throws his head back, giving Jaskier a lovely view of the way his throat works and strains around the little noises he’s making. Until he actually starts fucking Jaskier’s face, at least, and he really can’t focus on anything except the cock in his mouth.

Not that he minds, of course. He moans and whimpers as much as he can, squeezing Geralt’s hand and letting his shoulders drop so he’s easier to move; Geralt makes a broken sound at the feeling of him giving in so totally, and shoves him almost all the way down.

Jaskier gags again, of course he does, but he doesn’t let go of Geralt’s hand, forces himself to swallow through it. There’s spit and tears all over his face and his shoulders are shaking, and he just wants that last few inches. Still swallowing convulsively around the intrusion, he tries to push himself further. The hold Geralt has on his hair prevents it still, though the sting of trying makes him moan and gag again.

Geralt pulls him away, until just the head rests in Jaskier’s mouth. Jaskier looks up at him, vision blurry through the tears, and tongues at his slit. Watching the way Geralt’s eyes roll, how he bites his lip, makes Jaskier’s entire body pulse.

“ _Fuck_ , Jaskier,” Geralt hisses, and then he’s moving again. Slower now, but he pulls Jaskier nearly to the base of his cock each time, grunting brokenly with each gag and swallow; Jaskier fights to keep his eyes open so he can watch. Geralt’s eyes are closed, now, but that’s fine by him. Seeing his face as he starts to fall apart is plenty. Each time he’s pushed down, he tries to go a little further, and every time, Geralt stops him. Jaskier whines at being denied, but it’s not like he can really _complain_ – his mouth is a little busy for that.

“ _Jaskier_ ,” Geralt moans. “Fuck, Jaskier, _fuck_.”

He’s close. He has to be; Jaskier can practically count his pulse through the throbbing of the vein pressed against his tongue, and his rhythm is shot, even as slow as he’s moving. He brings one of his hands up to where Geralt’s is tight in his hair and taps at it. Geralt grunts and opens his eyes.

Even through the tears, Jaskier can see the question on Geralt’s face. He squeezes Geralt’s other hand and taps the one in his hair again, and slowly, Geralt lets go of his hair. Jaskier hums around him in reward, thrilling when his mouth falls slack and his eyes roll a bit.

He has to pull back for a moment, just to catch his breath properly, but before Geralt can question him – or get his bearings back – he’s dropping back down, further this time. Not quite to the base, but nearly, and Geralt makes a shocked, sharp little sound. Jaskier would smirk if his mouth wasn’t full. He holds there for a moment, swallowing to stop himself from gagging, then pulls back up and breathes, and does it again; three more times and he’s finally able to push all the way to the base, nose smashed up against Geralt’s hips.

“ _Fuck_!” Geralt’s hand is back in his hair again, more petting than anything else, and his hips are rocking just a little. “Jaskier, Jask, I’m – _oh,_ fuck, _Jaskier._ ”

Another hum sends him over. Jaskier’s eyes roll at the feeling, and he pulls back just a little, enough to catch the last on his tongue instead of down his throat. Geralt _whimpers_ , then does it again when Jaskier tongues at the head, coaxing a few final spurts out of him.

He finally pulls all the way back, letting Geralt’s cock pop out of his mouth with an obscene noise that makes both of them shiver, and waits until Geralt’s eyes flutter open to look at him. Once Geralt is focused, he makes a pointed show of swallowing what’s left on his tongue, grinning when Geralt’s eyes slam shut once more and he groans from his chest.

“Fucking _hell_ , Jaskier,” he mutters. “Gods. Get up here.” He doesn’t wait for Jaskier to try and scramble to his feet, instead just grabbing him under the arms and yanking him up into his lap. Jaskier squeaks, but settles quickly, knees on either side of Geralt’s hips and arms around his shoulders.

Geralt reaches between them to grasp his cock without any warning. Jaskier shouts and pushes his face into Geralt’s throat, body jerking wildly with the wild flood of pleasure. Geralt just makes an encouraging noise and strokes him, quick and tight and a little too dry but frankly fucking _perfect._

“ _Geralt,”_ Jaskier pants, careening closer and closer to the edge each time Geralt flicks his thumb against the head. “Geralt, _fuck_ , please.”

“Go on,” Geralt encourages, pressing lazy kisses to his neck. “Come for me, Jaskier.”

Jaskier jolts. “ _Gods_.” It only takes a handful more thrusts before he’s doing as he’s told, spilling all over Geralt’s hand as the Witcher strokes him through it. “Geralt. _Geralt._ ”

Geralt chuckles. He doesn’t stop stroking until Jaskier is whining, squirming to try and get away, and Jaskier ends up sinking his teeth into Geralt’s shoulder for an outlet to the sensitivity. Geralt grunts, but pulls his hand away, wiping it clean on the side of the sheets.

It takes a moment for Jaskier to come all the way down. Geralt holds him the whole time, his clean hand stroking up and down Jaskier’s back. Finally, when Jaskier is sure he won’t immediately collapse to the floor, he clambers backwards and onto his feet, just so he can crawl right back up on the bed and sprawl out across it. Geralt watches him do this with a small and vaguely bemused smile on his face.

“I demand cuddles,” Jaskier says, stretching his legs out and groaning at the tingly pleasure-pain it causes. “And then a second round in the next, hm. Hour or so.”

Geralt huffs, but lays down next to him obligingly and easily wraps him up in strong arms. “Of course you would _demand_ ,” he murmurs against Jaskier’s hair.

Jaskier smirks against Geralt’s chest. “Are you really complaining?”

There’s a pause, and Jaskier knows even without looking that Geralt is amused.

“No.”

“That’s what I thought.”


	2. chapter 2

Geralt basically doesn’t let go of him for the next three days.

Which Jaskier supposes is just fair turnabout, after all of the fun he, Lambert, and Eskel had at his expense. Although, really, Jaskier is hardly _losing_. Getting to spend more intimate time with Lambert and Eskel was definitely not a punishment, and far be it for Jaskier to complain about _Geralt_ of all people being clingy.

However, there seems to be one teensy little problem.

Jaskier is pretty sure Eskel and Lambert are _jealous._

See, while there were, hm, _implications_ when both of them ‘won’ him, nothing ever _happened_. Lambert had been perfectly gentlemanly, in fact, ignoring some of the dirtier jokes he told – but those were just that. Jokes. And Eskel – well, he’d been tactile, and yes, there was the heavy suggestion of him hand-feeding Jaskier, but it had never gone any further than that. Just…teasing, really – for both them _and_ Geralt. And Jaskier had enjoyed the play, the teasing and flirting and making eyes; it’s not terribly out of the question to assume Eskel and Lambert had, too. Also, Jaskier is, admittedly, a slut. He’s not ever against flirting (or more) with attractive people.

But nothing had happened between Jaskier and Lambert, or Jaskier and Eskel.

Obviously, something happened between Jaskier and Geralt. And Jaskier is sure that it was _startingly_ obvious, considering the sheer amount of _noise_ he’d made during that second round. Which is to say, he thinks it would make _sense_ that Lambert and Eskel are jealous, considering all of the evidence.

And, y’know, the way that Eskel and Lambert keep pointedly _not looking_ when Geralt can’t seem to keep his teeth out of Jaskier’s neck in the common areas.

Jaskier almost wishes he was ashamed, but then again, no, he doesn’t, because really, shame has never served him and likely isn’t about to start. Also, he’s guilty of _liking_ Geralt’s inability to keep his teeth and hands to himself. So he’s not ashamed, no, but he _does_ feel a little bad about the mounting tension in the keep, the way he can see it wearing on Eskel and Lambert.

He just can’t really figure out what to do about it. After all, clinginess aside, Geralt hasn’t suddenly grown the ability to properly talk about his feelings, and Jaskier isn’t quite sure how to bring it up, either – to him or the others. He feels like there has to be an obvious solution. It just happens to be one he can’t _see._

Ultimately, despite all of his musings, he isn’t the one to figure it out. No, the one to figure it out, to offer up a solution to the conflict between the four of them, is _Vesemir._

Jaskier could die of mortification, if he were prone to those kinds of dramatics. Or to mortification, for that matter.

* * *

It comes to a head after supper one night. Jaskier is sitting on Geralt’s lap – he _had_ been sitting by his own, but then Geralt had given him those pleading eyes, and he’s nothing if not weak – and Eskel and Lambert are doing that _pointedly looking away_ thing.

Jaskier has been trying to engage them in conversation for ten minutes, to no avail. Geralt just nosing at the back of Jaskier’s neck like nothing’s wrong – because apparently he’s an _asshole_. Vesemir is reading. Or, well, _was._

After another fifteen minutes of Eskel and Lambert’s broody silence, and Jaskier’s inane chatter while Geralt _radiates_ smugness, Vesemir closes his book and sighs. Everyone snaps to attention at the sound. When Jaskier turns, he finds Vesemir looking at he and Geralt – or, more specifically, just Geralt. He looks…not angry, really, more…frustrated? Jaskier isn’t really sure how to define the look on the eldest Witcher's face, but apparently Geralt is, because suddenly he’s sitting up a little straighter.

“Geralt,” Vesemir says, standing and walking over to them. Geralt somehow manages to sit even straighter, and Jaskier tenses, too. “I’d have thought this was a lesson we taught you nearly a _century_ ago. Either you share your toys, or you put them away.” He gives Jaskier a pointed look, and then he’s gone; likely up to his own room for the night, but as soon as he’s no longer in Jaskier’s immediate sight, Jaskier isn’t thinking about him anymore.

Share.

Wow, he’s an idiot.

The solution has been here the whole time. Unless Geralt, Lambert, or Eskel have any objections – and Jaskier is suddenly pretty sure they _won’t_ – they could just _share_ him. There’s absolutely no reason for this weird standoff.

“Well,” Jaskier says, and he’s the first to snap out of the shock, clearly, because the three of them jump at the sound of his voice. “I suppose we could continue with the game of betting at cards and trading me around, but then again, we could also just do away with the charade.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt rumbles. Jaskier turns to look at him over his shoulder.

“Yes?” Jaskier asks. “Do you have a problem with sharing your _toys_ , Geralt?”

Geralt’s eyes widen and he grunts. Jaskier just smirks. “Well?”

“…no,” Geralt answers. “I don’t.”

_That’s what I thought_ , Jaskier thinks. He winks at Geralt, then turns back to face Eskel and Lambert, who are now staring at him; Lambert looks contemplative, while Eskel just looks confused. Jaskier leans back against Geralt’s chest, sort of sprawling in his lap. Geralt takes his weight easily, wrapping an arm around his waist to make sure he’s secure.

“Any objections?” he asks.

Lambert blinks. “Seriously?” he asks.

Jaskier quirks a brow at him. “‘ _Seriously_ ’, what?”

Lambert glances to Eskel, then back to Jaskier. “ _You’d_ be fine with an…arrangement like that? It seems a little…I don’t know, objectifying?”

Jaskier snorts. “I willingly let you three bet me in card games, darling. What, exactly, gave you the idea that I have any sense of dignity?”

Eskel frowns. “That’s not…we were just….”

“It’s not what you meant, and it was just a game, I know.” Jaskier waves a hand. “And I’m hardly a _toy._ Not _really_ the point here, though, is it?”

“What exactly _is_ the point?” Lambert asks.

Jaskier turns back to him. “That there’s no reason for you two to be jealous about Geralt fucking me if we can all agree to share.”

Geralt makes a soft sound and buries his face into Jaskier’s neck. Eskel jerks as if something’s hit him. Lambert, though, he _smirks_.

“You really that much of a slut, buttercup?”

Jaskier laughs. “I _am_ ,” he confirms. “Planning to take advantage?”

Lambert stands from his chair and strides over. Jaskier sits up a little, shifting so he can lean up into the kiss Lambert bends down to plant on him. It’s immediately deep and filthy, one of Lambert’s hands gripping Jaskier’s jaw. Geralt, still with his face in Jaskier’s neck, mutters a quiet, “ _Fuck_.” It trails into an even softer whine when Jaskier rolls his hips back against where he can feel Geralt beginning to get hard.

The kiss breaks and Lambert uses his grip on Jaskier’s jaw to tilt his head, trailing tongue and teeth down the side of his throat. Jaskier hums appreciatively, still rolling his hips against Geralt as he reaches a hand toward Eskel.

“I seem to be missing someone,” he murmurs, and Eskel startles, but stands and crosses the room. He stops just short of them, though, looking unsure. Jaskier crooks a finger. “C’mere.”

As soon as Eskel is near, Jaskier reaches up and tugs at his shirt, until he bends close enough to kiss. Eskel makes a short, broken sound into his mouth but kisses back enthusiastically, one of his hands settling on Jaskier’s waist just above Geralt’s arm.

He and Eskel kiss for a long moment while Lambert sets to leaving a series of small hickeys the length of Jaskier’s neck. Geralt, for his part, has started slowly grinding his hips up into Jaskier’s ass, mouthing at the nape of his neck softly. Jaskier has a hand on Eskel’s chest and Lambert’s shoulder, respectively, and it’s unexpectedly thrilling to be touching all three of them at once.

And then Geralt brings his other hand up to press between Jaskier’s legs and it gets _significantly_ more thrilling. Jaskier moans wantonly into Eskel’s mouth and their kiss breaks; Eskel ducks down to mouth at his throat, on the opposite side from Lambert, and his hand slides down to Jaskier’s thigh. It’s half instinct and half him being a showoff that makes Jaskier lean a little further back into Geralt and spread his legs. Eskel and Lambert both pull back at once, looking down to where Jaskier is obscenely hard in his breeches, Geralt’s hand framing the bulge; Eskel swallows audibly, and Lambert makes a low, animal sound.

Jaskier shudders. Slowly, as if Jaskier might stop him, Geralt moves his hand, from framing his erection to cupping it instead. A whimper leaks from Jaskier’s lips and he lets his head fall back against Geralt shoulder. “ _Please_ , more.”

Geralt huffs softly, turning his head a little to mouth at Jaskier’s jaw, but does as he’s asked. His palm grinds slow over the head of Jaskier’s cock, fingers pressing hard against the shaft. Jaskier squirms and moans, the touch hardly more than a tease through his breeches. Though knowing Eskel and Lambert are standing so near, _watching_ , definitely intensifies the sensation a bit.

It doesn’t take long, though, for Geralt to get impatient; before Jaskier can even find the words to beg further, the Witcher is tugging the laces of his breeches free. With a little shoving, and Jaskier’s only-marginally-helpful wriggling, his breeches are pushed down his thighs, smallclothes tugged along with them. Eskel grunts and Lambert whistles and Jaskier’s entire body pulses, eyes squeezing shut and cock flexing against his belly. Geralt just chuckles softly into his ear.

“I could tell you wanted to put on a show,” he murmurs. Jaskier whines.

“Y-yeah,” he agrees. “Fuck, please.”

Geralt chuckles again and wraps his hand tightly around Jaskier’s cock, giving him one slow, too-dry stroke. Jaskier shudders hard and pries his eyes open with great effort.

Lambert is staring between his legs blatantly, one hand over the bulge of his own erection; Eskel’s gaze is flicking between Jaskier’s cock and Geralt’s face. Jaskier goes to say something and groans instead when Geralt swipes a thumb across the leaking head of him, and Eskel’s eyes flash to his.

“Oil,” Jaskier manages to gasp. “Need – _fuck_ , Geralt, would you – ”

“No,” Geralt says, a grin in his tone, and he strokes just a little faster. Even dry, it feels _so good_. Jaskier whimpers and bucks his hips up into the touch involuntarily. “See, you don’t want me to stop.”

“ _No_ ,” Jaskier gripes, “just – fuck, just trying to – ”

“I think we got the message,” Lambert interrupts this time. “Pretty self-explanatory, isn’t it?”

He steps a little closer and leans forward enough to catch Jaskier’s mouth in a filthy kiss; Jaskier whimpers into it and kisses back, momentarily overloaded between it and the way Geralt is still stroking his cock.

“Be right back, buttercup,” Lambert murmurs against his lips, and then he’s gone. Jaskier barely has the time to be upset about it before Eskel is taking his place.

Geralt’s grip has gotten a little slicker, now, with how much Jaskier is leaking. It’s making him shiver and tremble, and the kiss with Eskel quickly devolves into the Witcher licking into his slack mouth and nibbling at his lips instead. Lambert has returned by the time Geralt has mercy and slows his stroking, gentles his grip. Eskel pulls away with a parting flick of his tongue, and Jaskier huffs in several deep breaths in an attempt to calm his heart rate.

“Here,” Geralt says, to Lambert, holding out a hand. Lambert hands over the oil he grabbed – simple cooking oil, but it’ll do – and Geralt sets it carefully against his leg before reaching down to shove further at Jaskier’s pants. Jaskier tries to help, wriggling around to try and shift them off, but all he really does writhe. Geralt snorts and clamps his hands around Jaskier’s hips. “Still,” he murmurs. “Eskel, help him.”

Eskel drops into a crouch in front of Jaskier and Geralt immediately. Jaskier chews his lip until he tastes copper at the sight of the scarred Witcher nearly kneeling between his legs.

Something to revisit later, certainly.

His boots are unlaced and then tossed away, and with one hard yank from Eskel as Geralt lifts Jaskier a little – _effortlessly_ , and Jaskier doesn’t bother holding back his whine – his pants follow. As soon as they’re gone, Geralt is manhandling Jaskier back down to his lap, but with his legs up underneath him now, so he’s leaned forward a bit.

Lambert can either read minds, or he just notices the convenient height of Jaskier’s mouth. “Who first?” he asks.

Jaskier hums. “Who said you have to take turns?”

Eskel makes a short, disbelieving sound. Jaskier quirks a brow at him.

“What?” he asks, looking back to Lambert as well. “You don’t think I could get both of you into my mouth?”

Geralt chuckles behind him, but doesn’t say anything. Jaskier looks over his shoulder to see that Geralt isn’t really even paying attention to the conversation; instead, he’s working open the oil and staring rather blatantly at Jaskier’s ass. Jaskier grins and shakes it a bit before turning back to Lambert and Eskel.

“Well?”

Lambert snorts. “We’re not exactly small, buttercup.”

Jaskier’s grin widens. “I’ll prove it to you,” he says, all arrogance. Geralt chuckles again, but it’s underscored by the way he drags light fingers down Jaskier’s crack.

“C’mon,” Jaskier goads. “No need to take turns; my mouth has many talents.”

Lambert throws a look at Eskel, who just shrugs slightly and starts fumbling with his breeches. Jaskier licks his lips and watches with no small amount of excitement, only slightly distracted by Geralt’s light touch against his hole. He leans a bit more forward, balancing with his hands on Geralt’s knees.

His Witchers seem to have done this before – or they’ve seen it done, something, because they shift to stand as close as they can, Lambert slightly in front of Eskel, their arms around each other’s shoulders. Balanced like this, Jaskier can _only_ use his mouth, and he knows it looks filthy.

Not his first go around, after all.

With Lambert and Eskel pressed together, he drops his mouth open and looks up at them from under his lashes. Eskel groans at the sight, and Lambert whistles lowly again. Jaskier leans a little more forward, flicking his tongue between them, mixing the taste of their precome on his tongue. They both make low, broken noises and press a little closer.

Geralt sinks a finger into his ass without warning, and Jaskier outright whimpers, tongue faltering for a moment between Lambert and Eskel’s cocks as the burn of it settles through him.

“Fuck.” It’s half-slurred around the cockheads nearly in his mouth. The sensation of it makes Eskel groan, and Lambert’s hips hitch forward. Jaskier grins up at them and balances on one hand so he can reach up and press their cocks closer together, sucking both of the heads into his mouth at once. It’s certainly a stretch, corners of his mouth straining, but completely worth it for the twin noises of shocked arousal that pour out of the Witchers above him, the similarly simultaneous bursts of precome across his tongue.

A second finger sinks into him and he squeezes his eyes shut to cope with the assault of sensation. Someone’s hand ends up in his hair, petting through it as if he’s something precious – probably Eskel, though Jaskier wouldn’t be _shocked_ to find it’s Lambert (after all, with Jaskier’s eyes closed and everyone else sufficiently distracted…). Sucking at both of them is messy, and his jaw is strained quicker this way than if he just had them take turns, but it’s worth it.

He can feel how eager they are in the restrained energy practically radiating from their skin; from the little tiny movements they make, rubbing their cockheads together on top of his tongue; from the litany of small noises falling from both of them. He wants to open his eyes again, to look up at them, but he’s not sure if he could take it. He’s already stupidly close.

And Geralt keeps petting erratically at his prostate, the _bastard._ It makes him jolt and whimper and moan each time, which just feeds into the loop they’re forming. Geralt makes him moan, and Eskel and Lambert twitch in his mouth, which makes him moan again, and Geralt does something new with his fingers….

“Fuck,” Lambert hisses. “Fucking _hell_ , buttercup, look at you – ”

“Prettiest thing I’ve ever seen,” Eskel adds, and Jaskier manages to flutter his eyes open for just a moment, just long enough to see the adoration on Eskel’s face, the shocked arousal on Lambert’s. A third finger presses into him at that moment, though, and his eyes squeeze shut all over again. The feeling of Geralt spreading him open with those fingers makes him grunt, makes the pattern his tongue is making against Eskel and Lambert’s cockheads falter.

Jaskier’s head spins. He tries to make up for the distraction, though, working his tongue harder in absence of rhythm or pattern, sucking messily and loudly. From the sounds Eskel and Lambert are making, it works. At some point, Geralt removes his fingers; Jaskier makes a bereft noise, but then they’re back, obscenely slick this time. He groans as he feels some of the oil drip down to trail over his balls, some trickling to his thigh even with how widespread his legs are right now.

Lambert is the first to pull away from his mouth, swearing colorfully and muttering about _close_. Eskel follows not long after, nearly _squeaking_ when Jaskier tries to chase after him. Jaskier forces his eyes open, mouth aching, and sees the way they’re both gripping at their cocks but not stroking; he grins sloppily, jaw aching and lips buzzing. He barely gets a chance to revel in the satisfaction, though, before Geralt’s fingers are pulled out of him again.

He grunts with the sudden loss. Geralt chuckles and grabs his hip as well as his ankle and just – _moves_ him. Jaskier can’t even put together how it happened, but when he settles again, he’s facing the other direction, forehead pressed to Geralt’s shoulder and ass in the air toward Eskel and Lambert.

“ _Oh_ ,” Jaskier gasps, and then gasps again when Geralt’s hands grab at him, spreading his cheeks apart and –

Showing him off.

_Sharing_.

“Ffff _uck_ ,” Jaskier whimpers. He shifts his knees a little, raising his ass just that little bit higher as he presses his face tighter Geralt’s neck, bracing his arms on the back of the couch behind Geralt’s head. Someone makes a sound – Lambert or Eskel, Jaskier can’t tell – and then there’s four more hands on him. He shivers and whines but presses into the touch, intensely aware of where Geralt is still holding him open.

Someone’s finger dips inside him, just the barest little touch, and he jolts, pressing himself back. He wants _more_ , but the finger retreats. It takes a second for him to realize the absolutely desperate whine he hears is _him_. His ears burn, but he doesn’t bother closing his mouth or trying to control himself.

A good thing, too, because the next thing he feels at his hole is a _tongue_.

“ _Sweet fucking Melitele_ ,” he whines, more breath than words. Geralt chuckles and sets to sucking a mark into his shoulder, where his shirt has slipped to the side. There’s the press of lips against his back, tracing up his spine; with each kiss he gets a better feel for the shape of them – Eskel. Which makes Lambert the one currently teasing a tongue around his rim. He shudders hard enough to make the couch creak a little, and Geralt grips him a little harder.

“Be good,” Geralt rumbles, and Jaskier’s cock flexes so hard that for a moment he’s sure he’ll come on the spot. But it passes, and then he’s reduced to panting against Geralt’s throat as Lambert starts to properly eat him out. It’s sloppy, saliva dripping down Jaskier’s balls, and _loud_ , the wet smacking echoing sharply against the stone walls. Eskel is still just _touching_ , lips and tongue and hands trailing wherever he can reach. Ghosting down his back, pressing just so over his nipples; Jaskier is sure he’s going to lose his fucking mind.

He’d thought the idea of the three of them sharing him had been thrilling, thought just touching all of them was exhilarating, but this? This is a level he couldn’t have ever anticipated.

“Fuck, fuck,” he pants, hips starting to rock of their own volition as Lambert’s tongue probes deeper. Geralt makes a rough, wanting sound and finally lets go of Jaskier’s ass – with one hand, at least. Jaskier looses track for a second, but then that hand is in his hair, pulling him up. He finds Geralt’s mouth waiting for him there.

The kiss is deep and filthy, sloppy wet with the way Jaskier’s jaw keeps going slack each time Lambert sucks at his rim. Geralt’s remaining grip on his ass turns bruising, and Jaskier’s cock throbs between his legs alongside the irregular pulse of his heart. He’s _so_ close, so close. When two of Lambert’s fingers join his tongue, he jolts so hard his lip splits against Geralt’s teeth. The Witcher just licks up his blood with a little growl.

“Fuck, _please_ , more, more,” Jaskier pants.

Eskel chuckles, suddenly close to his ear. Jaskier turns, mostly blind, and catches his mouth in a kiss exactly as messy as the one he just shared with Geralt. The way Eskel sucks almost greedily at the sore split in his lip makes Jaskier whimper. A third finger joins the other two and Lambert’s tongue in Jaskier’s ass and he’s _gone._

He vaguely hears the way Geralt grunts into his throat while he comes, understands that the whispered nonsense he’s hearing in his ear is Eskel’s praise. But it’s all distant, secondary to the rush of blood through his ears and the pleasure eclipsing everything as he makes a mess of Geralt’s chest and his own thighs. Secondary, especially, to the way Lambert _keeps going_ , making the pleasure swell an extend until it’s nearly pain. Jaskier is shaking like a leaf, nails leaving little marks where he’s grabbed Geralt’s neck – when did that happen? – and Lambert just…doesn’t…stop.

“Fuck, _fuck_ , fuck, La – _Lambert_ , please, I – oh… _oh fuck_.” Jaskier can’t be sure if it’s just an aftershock that rocks his entire world, or if he comes _again_ on the tail end of the first orgasm, but everything whites out for the space of several breaths. When he crashes back into his body, each one of his Witchers has their teeth in him – Geralt at his throat, Eskel at his ribs, and Lambert at his hip.

The bites sting and ache and he think’s Lambert’s might be bleeding a little, but that absolutely doesn’t matter right now. He feels so _empty_ , needs more than fingers and tongues.

“ _More_ ,” he demands, rearing up as soon as Geralt unclamps his jaw. “Want – fuck, all three of you.”

“Jaskier – ” Eskel murmurs, sounding worried and awed and incredibly turned on all in one. “What – ”

Jaskier turns his head to look at him, gets caught momentarily in how dark his eyes have gone, the way his pupil has gone wider than Jaskier’s ever seen; when he looks back to Geralt, he’s the same. He can’t turn far enough to see Lambert right now, but it’s a good guess he’s in a similar state. It makes his hole clench around nothing.

“If you think I can take two cocks in my mouth and not my ass, _Witcher_ , you’re sorely mistaken.”

Eskel makes a punched-out sound that Geralt and Lambert echo, and then Jaskier is yanked back, a rough hand on his jaw turning his head almost too far. Lambert kisses him fiercely, enough so that his lip starts to bleed all over again. Jaskier can taste himself and his cock twitches _impossibly_ soon at the realization.

Jaskier looses track of the world around them entirely while Lambert ravages his mouth. He’s moved, he can parse that much, Eskel and Geralt manhandling him into a new position, but he can’t be fucked to pay attention until Lambert finally breaks their kiss to let him breathe. He sort of collapses forward when it happens, panting, and finds himself laying on Eskel’s chest. It’s easy, then, to lean up and kiss Eskel instead, while Lambert does – something – and Geralt…well, Jaskier has lost track of Geralt, now. Doesn’t matter, really, not when clearly the three of them are content with very minimal mental participation from him currently.

Also, Eskel can do absolutely _sinful_ things with his tongue. Jaskier thinks he’ll ask Eskel to eat him out next, if he can manage to locate the brain power to remember it.

“ _Pretty_ ,” Eskel mutters, eyes fluttering when Jaskier grinds forward against his abs. He can’t be sure if it was engineered or just luck, but Eskel’s cock slots perfectly between his cheeks, smooth and burning how against his hole; he whimpers and grinds faster, trying to raise his hips enough to catch the head. Hands on his hips stop him, though – not Eskel’s, because Eskel’s are still in his hair and on his shoulder, respectively, so…. He looks around and finds Geralt is the one who has stopped him, and he smirks when he sees Jaskier’s pout.

“Patience,” he murmurs, leaning forward to press a kiss to the back of Jaskier’s shoulder, between Eskel’s fingers. “You’ll get what you want, Jaskier.”

“ _Faster_ ,” Jaskier hisses, and ducks down to kiss Eskel again. There’s more shuffling, and some low conversation between Geralt and Lambert that Jaskier doesn’t bother to listen to, and then Eskel’s hand leaves his shoulder. The other remains in his hair, though, keeping him close even when their kiss breaks.

A slick sound reaches Jaskier’s ears, and then he realizes properly where Eskel’s other hand has gone, recognizes that Geralt has yanked his hips up now.

“Oh fuck, fuck, _please_.”

Eskel chuckles lowly, and it’s echoed by Geralt and Lambert, too.

“Really are a slut, buttercup,” Lambert says, and it sounds like praise as he trails wet kisses down Jaskier’s spine.

Jaskier huffs. “ _Yes_ ,” he agrees. “Now _please_ , will someone fu – _oh_!”

Geralt and Eskel both grip his hips to stop him from immediately slamming down onto Eskel’s cock. Even with Eskel’s hand slippery with oil, his grip is like a vice. Jaskier squirms and whines.

“Slow, Jaskier,” Geralt rumbles. “Be _good_.”

Jaskier babbles out some kind of affirmative, hips shifting as much as he can move them within the grip of two Witchers. Slowly, _slowly_ , they lower him down onto Eskel’s cock in little bursts of movement, Eskel’s hips rocking even slower. Jaskier whimpers and tosses his head back, nails digging so deep into the couch he’s sure something tears.

By the time he’s seated on Eskel’s cock, he’s nearly wheezing, cock twitching rapidly back to life despite him. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he whimpers, and one of his hands has moved from ravaging the couch to ravaging Eskel’s chest. The Witcher doesn’t seem to mind much, judging off the way he’s moaning. Also, Jaskier can feel the way his cock flexes inside him with each new scratch. “So _full_.”

“Going to be fuller,” Lambert murmurs, right in his ear, and both Jaskier and Eskel whine when Jaskier clenches down in a mix of shock and anticipation. Oil-slick fingers dance along the top of Jaskier’s ass, dipping just barely down to flirt at the edge of where he and Eskel are joined before drifting back up again.

Jaskier groans. “ _Please_ , Lambert, want – ”

“We know what you want,” Geralt says, voice low and rough as one of the courtyard flagstones. Jaskier turns to find him standing to the side, fisting his cock. Jaskier’s mouth floods with saliva, and he can see the advantages of this position suddenly. All he has to do is lean just a bit down and over, and –

“ _Gods_ ,” Geralt hisses, catching Jaskier by the hair with the hand not around his cock. “Greedy little thing.” Jaskier just licks up the precome soaking his head like it’s a treat and hums his agreement.

Eskel huffs a laugh, but it cuts off into a groan when Lambert’s fingers stop _flirting_ with Jaskier’s hole and start playing. Jaskier’s eyes roll and Geralt hums, using the grip he’s got on Jaskier’s hair to hold his head still and smear his cockhead over his lips. _Painting_ him with precome; Jaskier whimpers and tries to lick it all up, tongue fumbling and distracted by the feeling of Lambert’s fingers against him.

“Get on with it,” Eskel husks out.

Lambert huffs, but follows directions; the tip of his finger sinks in alongside Eskel’s cock, and quickly his whole finger after it. Jaskier spasms but rides back against it, wanting _more_ , the slight burn more of an incentive than a deterrent.

“Yes, _yes_ ,” he groans. “ _Fuck_ , please.”

Geralt makes a soft noise and yanks at his hair, bringing his attention back to the cock in his face. “If you’re so greedy for cock, take the one you’re being given,” he snarls. Jaskier’s cock bobs wildly against his stomach and he makes an agreeable sound, dropping his mouth open easily so Geralt can push inside.

For a long moment, that’s all that happens; Lambert slowly shifts that one finger, and Geralt rubs his cockhead over Jaskier’s tongue. Jaskier goes a little fuzzy, losing track of the edges of himself for a while. It’s fine – he knows his Witchers will keep him together.

A second finger makes him whimper; a third makes him _keen_. Both noises are muffled around Geralt’s cock, slowly sinking deeper and deeper into him with each easy thrust. Someone’s hand, Geralt’s he thinks, is around his throat, not tight, just holding, and he leans into it, lets himself go more-or-less limp between the three of them.

“He’s good,” Geralt murmurs after a moment. Jaskier makes a vague sound of agreement around his cock.

There’s more slick noises, a small groan, and then three fingers is down to two, and only barely those. Just the tips as Jaskier feels Lambert shift, press _in_. It hurts, for a split second, too much, _too much_ , and then the head of him sinks in and Jaskier has to pull back from Geralt to _scream_.

Geralt laughs and lets him, until Lambert is sunk as deep as he can get. Eskel is panting wildly, and Lambert is much the same. Jaskier feels very much like there’s not enough space inside him to take in air at all, everything filled to the brim with cock.

He’s frankly stunned that he doesn’t come right away.

“Get back here,” Geralt mutters, and Jaskier finds himself somehow _more_ stuffed full, pinned at both ends. He _sobs_ around Geralt’s cock and clenches down around Lambert and Eskel, which kicks them into motion.

The first thrust has him seeing stars, and the second turns them into fireworks. Lambert grabs at his arms and yanks them back, until they’re folded at the small of his back, captured in one of Lambert’s wide hands. It changes the angles, just a bit, forces Jaskier’s back to arch.

Between Eskel’s hands on his hips, Lambert’s on his arms, and Geralt’s in his hair and on his throat, he’s completely unable to move himself. _They’re_ moving him, bouncing him back and forth between their cocks, grunting like animals. Geralt doesn’t even pause when Jaskier chokes on his cock, instead just massaging his throat and _chuckling_.

“Good little fuck toy,” Lambert hisses, alongside a particularly vicious thrust that presses Eskel’s cock even more violently against Jaskier’s prostate, and Jaskier almost doesn’t want to call what happens to him an orgasm.

It’s _so much better than that._

He doesn’t _see_ fireworks, he _becomes them_ , and he’s barely faded down from the white-out when the world goes black instead.

* * *

When he comes to, he’s alarmingly sticky and very, very warm. The first thing he sees upon prying open his eyes is Geralt’s head; he registers the sensation of the Witcher kissing over his chest and belly a second later, and giggles. Eskel is to his side, both arms around him as well as both legs. Lambert is between his legs, leaned over to the side a bit; it takes a moment, but Jaskier finally parses the enraptured look on his face and the slick feeling between his legs.

_Fuck_. Lambert’s watching him _leak_.

He grunts and squirms, only to find he’s got no room to move at all. He’s thoroughly trapped between his three Witchers, albeit in a vastly different way than – previously. How long as he been asleep?

“Fifteen minutes,” Eskel mumbles into his throat.

He frowns. He hadn’t realized he’d said that aloud. Oh well.

“I’m…filthy,” he finally says – or, well, more accurately, _rasps_. He shivers at the clear evidence of Geralt’s roughness.

Lambert laughs. “You can say that again,” he grins, and Jaskier flushes a little. He’s fully aware that the Witcher isn’t just talking about the cum leaking from his ass or dried into his skin. “Come on. Bath time.” He levers himself up from the rug they’ve ended up piled on. Geralt goes next, though he’s clearly reluctant. Eskel, for his part, doesn’t bother to separate from Jaskier at all; instead, he just shifts to his knees and picks Jaskier up.

He doesn’t even grunt with exertion. Jaskier’s not sure if he should feel complimented, insulted, or just breathless over the overt show of strength.

The bath is lazy. Jaskier spends most of it in a daze, somewhere between sleep and waking, just thrilled to be manhandled and adored by his Witchers. He doesn’t recall finishing the bath, or drying off and going up to a bedroom. He doesn’t remember falling asleep at all.

It’s sunlight that wakes him the next morning, followed by the feeling of soft, chaste kisses being pressed to his shoulder. He stretches luxuriously, reveling in the myriad of aches across his body, and giggles when a nose is pressed almost violently to the crook of his neck.

He blinks his eyes open to find his vision obscured almost entirely by a mop of silver-white hair and giggles again. Turning his head shows Eskel to his side, Lambert spooned up behind him. He hums a content sound and reaches up to pet through Geralt’s hair.

“Morning,” he murmurs. Geralt hums, too, then sits up just enough to press a soft kiss to Jaskier’s mouth, and another after it, and another. They lose several minutes to soft, hazy kisses, and Jaskier finds himself curling easily around Geralt’s body when he drops to the side opposite Eskel and Lambert.

“Morning,” Geralt finally murmurs back, somewhere between the last few kisses. “Have any plans for today?”

Jaskier ducks down to rest his head against Geralt’s chest and settles in for a few more hours of cuddles and dozing. “Mmm, yeah,” he answers, knowing very well Geralt can feel his sly grin even if he can’t see it, “I thought I might learn to play Gwent.”

He’s rocked back to sleep by the shaking of Geralt’s chest as he laughs.

**Author's Note:**

> validation makes me keep doing things like this. so,,, if you liked it, p l e a s e let me know. i crave attention.


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